Costume
by SardonicShipper
Summary: Future Castiel and Dean in the End!Verse. Dean and Cas face up to Cas no longer being the angel in the trenchcoat. Spoilers up to early season 5. Angst, some foul language.


I haven't written anything in a long time so I'm sorry for any rustiness. I love the EndVerse characters and wanted to try writing them.

As mentioned, this has angst, some foul language, more angst, and a little kissing.

**_Disclaimer: I own none of Supernatural and make no claim to. This is just the work of my rambling imagination._**

**_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_**

Cas had vanished from camp a few hours earlier. Dean made the pretense of brushing it off, followed by everyone else making an even bigger pretense of not knowing just how unsettled Dean was.

A jeep door slammed shut as Armageddon became a tedious game of hide and seek.

"Dammit, Cas, it's not funny," Dean bellowed at endless sea and sand and a starless sky.

Dean bit back increasingly distant memories, when Cas would pop in and out like a magic trick after Dean grimaced a prayer. Cas no longer vanished by invisible wings, but by boots, dirty leather boots. "Made from angel skin," Cas would say, forcing a grin that never did reach his eyes.

Sometimes, Dean wondered if he should just stop looking. Cas was never gone for long...and if he didn't come back, maybe that was for the best. Maybe...

No. _No._

Dean ground his palms into his eyes, kept walking, nerves slightly calmed by the gentle lapping of the waves.

"I thought you weren't gonna show up," Dean heard, the voice mockingly sing-song.

Dean willed himself to stare directly at Cas. This was the fastest - hell, the only - way to get to him lately.

Cas snapped his head away.

"Silly me, I forgot the matches."

Dean finally noticed the trash can Cas was posing near, pointing at like Vanna White with a beard.

"Little old for bonfires," Dean spat out, more harshly than he'd intended.

"Once you turn 2000 you can do whatever the hell you want!" Cas chuckled.

Dean hated that chuckle, hated knowing that whatever heart he had left broke every time he heard it.

"Go on, Dean. Take a peek."

Confused and wary, Dean allowed himself to walk over, look inside. An involuntary shudder ran through him.

"Cas, it's your trenchcoat...your suit..."

_Showing Cas how to tie a tie, smoothing the wrinkles before they'd go in somewhere official, brushing the dust and dirt off Cas' back because Dean was aching to touch him in any way he could...the times he'd yanked Cas forward by the lapels for a kiss...their first kiss, body to brick wall, the collar brushing against Dean's neck..._

"Cas, no..."

The need in Dean's voice surprised them both. Cas glared at Dean, Dean knowing he was supposed to play the game, play the cards he'd dealt in the first place.

_I've already lost so much, Cas...so much of you..._

"No what? When was the last time I wore this? Do you even remember?"

They'd "celebrated" Cas losing the last of his mojo by getting hammered and getting naked, in no particular order. Dean had undressed him, almost reverently, sober in the haze. The morning after, Cas had taken some of Dean's shirts and jeans and jackets and never looked back.

"I remember."

Laserlike, Dean's eyes, straight at Cas. The wall between them flickered, for just a moment, before Cas shook his head, chuckling again.

"It's a costume! Halloween's over, Dean. Does anyone even celebrate Halloween anymore?"

When Dean's face fell, Cas began snapping his fingers, finally slapping his hands together sharply.

"You're not supposed to make the sad faces. That's me. You're stoic, remember? Unless you're suddenly into roleplay..."

Dean turned on his heel, walking as fast as he could without running.

"Fine. You wanna waste time on this shit, be my guest. I got important things to worry about."

He'd almost made it until he heard Cas, heard that hint of a cry.

"I can't...alone..."

Dean bristled at the pain in his stomach. _Keep on walking. If Cas wants to be a bitch and play these stupid games, let him. Let him..._

_I can't. I can't._

In the next breath he was rummaging through his pockets for the matches.

"Don't have any on me."

Cas rolled his eyes, sighing a little too loudly.

"You went pretty heavy on that whiskey. Maybe you brought some and forgot."

"So I forgot that I didn't forget?" Cas giggled. For once, not sounding so despondent.

Dean smiled in response. "Yeah. Lemme check."

Cas was still trying to avoid Dean's stare, Dean knowing Cas couldn't bear for him to see how much Cas had needed him in this moment. How much Dean's touch still meant to him.

Dean cleared his throat as he looked in one of Cas' back pockets. Cas smirked lasciviously.

"Any excuse, huh?"

"Found 'em."

"Any last words?" Cas forced out, rictus grin firmly in place.

"Um...nice ass?"

A moment of genuine laughter between them, before Cas looked away again. His hand shook as he tried to take the box of matches from Dean. Dean briskly shook his head.

"I'll take care of it."

Dean threw the match, standing back. As the memories burned, he didn't know what to say, didn't want to even try. After Sam, Bobby...everything...he wasn't going to let himself break down over a fucking coat. He still had Cas. It was just cheap fabric, falling to pieces long ago, a memory of a man Cas had never been and would never be again. It's just a coat, and a suit, and a tie, and...

"I see we're back to stoic."

Dean put his index finger under that beard he still never felt used to when it grazed against his skin.

"Shut up, Cas."

Watching the flames dancing in Cas' eyes, blue fire, Dean began thinking back to their first kiss, tender, exploring, needing. Thoughts bled into reality, whiskers against stubble, booze and breathlesness, his callused fingers wiping the tears from that beautiful fallen angel face, praying, hoping this kiss would tell Cas everything he could never say out loud.

Cas finally pulled away. Dean knew, from his eyes, what that kiss had meant to him.

"That almost felt like you meant it," he gasped, looking straight at Dean, light in his eyes, briefly, very briefly, taking them both back to a place they'd salted and burned.

In that instant, Dean hated himself even more than he already did, which he hadn't thought possible. For letting himself be weak. For caring. For loving. For hurting Cas all over again.

Dean turned his back before he could let himself look into those eyes, before he could fall into them, before he could see that fresh heartbreak Cas fought so valiantly to conceal.

The only sound to be heard was the crackling of the flames.

More silence, watching the hope burn along with the embers.

_The only thing worse than being in a hellhole like this is hoping you'll ever have anything better. I can't let you hope, Cas, cause if you do, I will too._

He turned back around when he knew the walls were freshly fortified.

"Let's go," Dean grunted, waiting for a wisecrack, an eye roll. A reaction.

Instead, Cas silently walked into the darkness.

Dean watched him walk away, giving him enough time to get himself into whatever state he needed to be in. While waiting, he dug his nails into his palm, needing the pain.

_You have no right to feel sorry for yourself, you sonnuvabitch. This is how it has to be...this is how it has to always fucking be..._

Dean began his own walk back to the jeep, the smell of the burnt costume slowly leaving him.

He'd miss it.


End file.
